Maybe they’re all victims of fate
by Misunderstood Beauty
Summary: PQR next part of the alphabet. Please R&R. Disclaimer: don't own!


**Disclaimer: Like, dude this is like, so not mine. Spooks is, like, totally Kudos' (argh, why did I just write that?)**

**A/N: This is so not getting my English essay done. Reckon I could hand in the completed alphabet for her to mark instead? My English teacher asked me if I liked writing stories the other day, strange woman, then she asked me to take in a sample of my writing. Am very worried as to what she's going to say.**

-

Seasons may change,

Winter to spring,

But I love you until the end of time

- Nicole Kidman – Come what may

-

P is for precision.

-

She's trying to pretend that everything's normal, but she can't. She's sick of this world of make believe.

He's back in her life now. They've fallen into a routine that echoes in her ears like a stopwatch that can't quit.

She was always so much better a pretending.

The progression of their relationship is a funny thing. She intended to, if anything, break the direction of whatever it was that managed to tie them together. She tried, tried, and tried again.

It didn't work.

Change is a funny thing.

Her mind's still a restless jumble of _what if's _and _why's_. It's still suffering the acute pain of having to leave behind a life she loved.

She knows it's pretty damn selfish, but she can't help herself wanting more. She makes herself think of the stories without happy endings, of Danny and Zoë, of Danny and Sam, of Adam and Fiona, of Tom and Christina.

But then she realises that this isn't her happy ending.

She should be sitting on the Grid reading a file, phoning GCHQ, gossiping with Jo by the water cooler.

She should be working with him, not sleeping with him.

It's wrong, unclean, and almost filthy. He's her boss. No, _was_ her boss. Past tense. She hates it.

If she could, she would laugh. But she's stuck in-between the fear and uncertainty of this. It's dangerous, it's bloody deadly.

Maybe they're all victims of fate. She doesn't know anymore. What's more, she doesn't care.

She still has the precision she's famed for. It's just a precise mess now.

They're a mess, and she can't forget it.

-

Q is for qualm.

-

She tries to remember how this has started, but only falls to the notion that it's exploded and started. And that it's beyond her control.

Here. Now.

"Harry, I can't do this any more."

"What, Ruth…."

"Harry, I'm sorry." She is, she doesn't want this to have to happen but it's stupid to risk this much for a few weeks, a few months, of happiness.

There's a look of hurt in his eyes she hasn't seen before, a look of lost opportunity, or persistent bad luck. "Ruth lets talk this over, please." She's never seen him this helpless.

"Harry, there's nothing to say, this is insane, dangerous. We're treading shark infested water."

"I can do it, it's my job."

"It's different. Here it isn't for 'Queen and Country', its pure selfish want."

"This helps me do my job."

"Yes, of course, because screwing me every night really hinders 'Axe of Death' or whomever."

She's falling into the trap he's creating to make her stay. He's like a cobweb on velvet, the further away she pulls the firmer he grips.

"Ruth, you have no idea what I was like after you left."

"That's so clichéd."

"Have you been back to your house?" He's clutching on straws, she can tell.

"Of course not, why would I have been?"

"I stripped it bare of you, all your pictures, all your books, everything, even your bloody perfume!"

"What's that got to do with the price of fish?" He did this last time she tried to leave, pulling her as far from her point as he could.

"Nothing, it's just, Ruth. I don't know how to say it…I can't live without you."

"Harry, it's hard for me too, but it's harder when we're together."

"Ruth…"

"Goodbye, Harry."

-

R is for regret.

-

She's barely made it out the door when the sobs come. She convinced herself that this one would be the last goodbye, but she's not sure anymore.

Tears are falling down her nose and cheeks as her teeth bite down hard on her trembling bottom lip.

She can taste blood.

How ironic.

He's torn her to shreds, her heart a broken pile of flesh residing within her ribcage.

She's sure that this is the end of him and her. Her and him.

Them. They. We. Us. One. Together.

Over. Split. Two. Halves.

Broken.

She's screaming under her breath. He was the only thing in her life that made sense.

She wishes she would always think before she speaks. She wants to go back to a year ago. She remembers the comfortable tension they sat in. He could have been happy, she was.

Was. She wants it to be 'is' so badly.

For one moment it is the truth. This is a dream. No, it's a nightmare.

She needs an angel. Someone to pick her up and settle her into his arms.


End file.
